


Turkish Delights (2008)

by JennyB



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Beads, Anal Sex, Bath Houses, Blow Jobs, Community: 7thnight_smut, First Time, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Lust, M/M, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-06
Updated: 2008-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyB/pseuds/JennyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A travelling priest gets an invitation to dinner – and winds up with his just desserts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turkish Delights (2008)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helliongoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helliongoddess/gifts).



> This was written for the 2008 7th Night Smut challenge, a Saiyuki-themed writing community on Dreamwidth.
> 
> The prompt was a middle eastern seraglio.
> 
> ** Terms of Note **
> 
> **Ahl Al-Kitab:** Literally, 'people of the book', meaning Christians, Jews, and others that have 'divine books' (bibles). However, this was later amended to include other faiths.
> 
> **Jizya:** A tax levied on non-Muslim citizens.
> 
> **Sharia Law:** The body of Islamic religious law.
> 
> **Hoca:** A Muslim priest (but it's being used generically in this story).
> 
> **Ulema:** The educated class of Muslim legal scholars and the ones who interpret Sharia law.
> 
> **Dhimmi:** A non-Muslim protected under Sharia law.
> 
> **Gödze:** Translation – 'the favourite'. Refers to a rank obtained by one of the concubines in a seraglio.
> 
> **Kese:** A rough scrub mitt, often made from plant fibres, used for the massage part in the bathhouse.

The afternoon sun was positively sweltering as the travelling priest arrived in Çukuriçi. Scowling slightly, he wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and cautiously made his way into town. So far, his presence in the built up areas hadn't been exactly favourable. The religion of the empire was Islam, and though the Turks _claimed_ tolerance toward the _Ahl Al-Kitab_ , the people seemed to be far less charitable in practice than they were on paper. Unfortunately, Buddhism wasn't exactly well respected, and as such, for choosing to follow such a backwards, polytheist doctrine, the blond was expected to pay the Jizya – a tax levied upon him with each kingdom he entered, simply for the privilege to practice. The blond snorted humourlessly, the movement causing the myriad bruises and cuts on his body to throb. Apparently, the masses hadn't gotten the memo, for he'd been shunned and stoned more times than he could count, labelled an infidel, and run out of town.

As such, after far too many encounters with the locals to remember, he'd considerably downplayed his attire. His regular vestments had been carefully stowed away in his satchel, and he'd adopted a simple, brown caftan tied at the waist with a black sash. People still knew he was an outsider – he couldn't hide his fair hair or violet eyes – but they were sometimes a little more tolerant. At least, long enough for him to procure enough food to fill his belly before he was, again, chased out of town.

Approaching the central square, he snorted again. He still didn't see the 'honour' of being sent on this asinine mission. 'Bring the faith to the masses,' he'd been told, and sent on his way. It was ridiculous, laughable almost. Sharia Law, which was practiced in the empire he was currently traversing, prohibited public demonstrations or the conversion of Muslims. That meant that until he left Ottoman lands, he was, essentially, wandering aimlessly. He wondered if any of his brothers would have challenged the law were they in his place, and he smirked. Let them be martyrs if they wanted. He had no desire to die for a faith he really didn't believe that strongly in. He would continue to wander for a year, as he had been instructed, and then return to his temple as a failure. Perhaps his lacklustre performance would serve as a message to the elders this time, and they'd stop choosing him for such dubious 'honours'.

As he entered the plaza, his eyes widened in pleasure when he saw the elaborate fountain set up in the square. Making his way over to it, he could already taste the cool water and feel it pouring over him, refreshing him enough to continue his journey. He knelt down at the edge and held out his hand, only to pause and turn when he heard a man's voice shouting, "Hoca! Hoca!!"

Violet eyes narrowed as the monk got to his feet again and faced the other, his tired body immediately on edge. "What do you want?" he asked coolly in broken Arabic, having long ago learned the word for 'priest'.

"You aren't permitted to drink the water!"

"Why the hell not?" The blond moved to turn back to the fountain, only to be roughly shoved aside, and he gritted his teeth against his wince.

"You're unclean."

At that, the priest arched a brow. "So I'll wash my hands."

The man, presumably one of the local merchants, shook his head vehemently. "No! You are foreign." His gaze flicked up to the flaxen tresses and purple eyes. "Only ulema are permitted. You're a dhimmi."

"My bad, then." Sighing heavily, he turned to go. Obviously, there wasn't anything for him in this town. "You should put up a sign."

"Wait!" When the monk turned around again, the merchant stuck out his hand. "You owe restitution under Sharia law, hoca."

"The hell I do." Violet eyes narrowed. "Besides, I don't have anything to give you."

"Then I'll take it in blood." The man drew his dagger and reached for the blond.

The priest's eyes widened, and he ran, his slender form easily able to outrun the decadent merchant's corpulent form. It wasn't that he was a coward, but rather, he knew the odds would _definitely_ not be in his favour. Rounding a corner, he glanced over his shoulder to see if he'd evaded his pursuer, his brow furrowing in confusion when he saw the portly man just staring open mouthed at him. Shrugging it off to a streak of good fortune, he turned around, only to swear loudly as he ran into another man and fell to his ass on the interlocked brick. A quick glance around showed several townspeople, and curling himself up into a ball and protecting his head, he awaited the inevitable shower of stones that was sure to come.

"Hoca? Come on, hoca, on your feet."

He felt hands on his shoulders, and out of reflex, he shrugged off the touch and scrambled back a couple of feet, looking up in confusion, an arm still shielding his face. He saw a man about his height but thirty years his senior, with dark eyes and a trimmed, well-groomed dark beard and moustache. He was impeccably dressed in a white linen shirt with the traditional baggy trousers, and a short cropped jacket, each piece heavily embroidered with gold thread and beads. Around his waist was tied a white silk kuşak, and over the entire ensemble, he wore a long, white dolman, embroidered in a similar style to his jacket. A fez was jauntily perched upon his head, and he gave the priest a smile as he held out a hand.

When several moments passed by, and the blond still hadn't taken the outstretched arm, the man's smile widened. "I am Abdul-Qahhar, Grand Vizier for this province. Please, allow me to help you up, hoca."

"But, Lord!" one of the townspeople interjected. "That man is an outsider! A dhimmi! He –"

The nobleman held up a hand for silence, and then looked back at the priest. Chuckling softly, he gave the blond a wink, and switching to Sanskrit, he said, "I'm afraid the majority of townsfolk are far too literal in their interpretation of our teachings, and much too wary of strangers. Please, you look like you've not eaten or bathed in days. Allow me to show you the courtesy a man of your station deserves and show you the true hospitality my land is known for."

The monk just stared at him in open-mouthed shock for a few seconds until he was able to process what was happening. Given his treatment over the past few months, this was the last thing he had been expecting. Hesitantly, he took the vizier's hand and scrambled to his feet, still anticipating a barrage of stones as he looked around. When it didn't happen, he straightened and smoothed down his clothing before bending down to retrieve his satchel. Clearing his throat, he muttered a gruff, "Thank you."

The dark-haired man beamed. "Truly, it's my pleasure. Though, you can do one thing for me. Surely, you have a name? I don't want to spend the duration of our time together simply calling you 'priest'."

The blond hesitated. "Sati. My name is Sati."

"Sati," he echoed, and then nodded. "Come, my horses await."

The monk followed after the nobleman, and once they were situated in the carriage, he glanced over at the other. "Why?" he asked finally. "Why are you doing this?"

Abdul-Qahhar simply chuckled. "Let's just say I'm curious to learn a thing or two from you, and besides, it's been a while since I've hosted such a unique supper guest."

"If I'm not sufficiently entertaining, will you hand me back to the townspeople?" Sati asked.

The dark-skinned man laughed heartily at that. "With a biting wit like yours, I don't think you have to worry about that, my friend."

The priest snorted in amusement, and grateful for not having to walk, he enjoyed the ride in silence, watching the Turkish countryside pass by as they headed to Abdul-Qahhar's home. When they pulled through the gates of a large, stately palace, Sati sat up and gasped in shock. "This is your _home_? It's so huge! Larger than the biggest temples I've ever seen, even!"

The vizier grinned. "Actually, my home is one of the smaller estates, given that I rule over one of the smaller provinces. Still, it has to be large enough to accommodate all the people who live here. I have my wives, my administrators, my harem, my slaves..." His grin widened as dark eyes shifted to the immaculate white stone and the pristine gardens. "I'm pleased that you like it."

Sati didn't answer. He actually found the whole place to be excessively decadent and opulent, and the idea of slaves didn't really sit all that well with him. However, given the alternative of a cold night, an empty belly, and several townsfolk after his hide, he kept that thought to himself. Silently, he trailed after his host while the other pointed out the various features of his home and prattled on about various minutiae. He arched a brow when he saw veiled women with long hair fawning over their master, only to pink slightly and drop his gaze when the various slave girls and boys passed by in their scanty costumes. They offered coy winks and blew suggestive kisses – and not all of them for Abdul-Qahhar, either.

Eventually, the lord of the manor stopped outside a large pair of double doors, a wide grin settling on his face when two women appeared at his side. Taking one on each arm, he introduced them as Beyhan and Harika, two of his wives. The olive-skinned beauties each nodded to Sati, and then with matching demure smiles, they opened the doors to reveal the banquet hall.

The room was done in white marble, the windows draped with sumptuous silks and velvets, and a large, woven rug covered most of the floor. A low table sat in the middle of the room, around which were large pillows covered in silk and embroidered with the coat of arms for the province. Sati could feel his mouth watering as spicy, intoxicating aromas assailed his senses, and as discretely as he could, he pressed against his stomach to silence it. Perhaps he was hungrier than he'd thought.

Abdul-Qahhar clapped the priest on the shoulder, and with a pleased chuckle, he said, "Come, my friend. It's time to eat." He steered the blond over to a cushion near the head of the table, and then took his own place, flanked on either side by the two women. A few moments later, a couple other women joined them, sitting quietly and gazing in curiosity at the blond. Despite the grandiosity of the room and the size of the table, there was only the vizier, his four wives and the priest to partake of the meal. After imperiously clapping his hands, slave-servants, both male and female, swept into the room and began laying out dishes.

First, there was a fragrant rice pilaf spiced with mint, cumin and paprika, and sprinkled with dried apricots, raisins and figs. Lamb kebabs, eggplant salads, moussaka and fresh breads followed, along with a hearty lentil and lamb stew, a vegetable curry, various cheeses, fresh fruits, and yogurt. Once everything had been placed, the servants each chose a diner, and then settled at their side, offering warm cloths to cleanse the hands and face before eating. Sati let out a small gasp of surprise when he found himself gazing into mismatched gold and blue eyes. He felt a surge of excitement and then a wave of apprehension as he stared stonily, attempting to keep his expression neutral.

"Please, I have been assigned to attend to you for the meal," a sultry voice murmured in flawless Sanskrit.

Sati glanced around and saw that each diner had a servant seated next to them on the cushion, the slaves dishing out the food, filling wine glasses, and making sure that all needs were met. "I..." He trailed off stupidly, mindlessly letting the other wipe down his hands and face. When the servant had finished, the priest murmured a hasty thanks, dropping his hands into his lap and looking around to avoid that gaze.

"My name is Hamdi," the servant continued a moment later. "One of the vizier's pleasure slaves." A sensual smile settled on his lips as he poured a glass of wine for the blond. "The finest our country has to offer – or as a holy man, do you not drink?" The smile widened as he watched the other fidget slightly, and his eyes slitted a little in pleasure. "Hn...how perfect," he purred as he handed the glass to the blond. "If not for vice, what could we possibly have to repent?"

Sati took a healthy drink from the goblet and then set it back on the table, beyond grateful when his host chastised the raven-haired slave for not having yet fed his guest. The monk half listened as Hamdi explained the dishes before putting them on his plate, his gaze never leaving the priest, and that infuriatingly sensual smile constantly on his lips. He turned his attention to the vizier and made conversation with him while he ate, for once happy to be discussing Buddhist philosophy. The two talked for the remainder of the meal, and after the last plates had been cleared away and dessert and coffee had been consumed, one of the slave girls carried a large hookah in and set it down in front of the vizier.

"There's nothing like a good tobacco after a meal," Abdul-Qahhar remarked, and with a grin, he looked over at the priest. "Care to join me, hoca?" he teased as he offered one of the pipe tips to the blond, lightly rolling the stem between his fingertips in a tempting invitation.

"It's not expressly forbidden," the priest quipped in return as he reached for the offered pipe. Puffing silently, full and content, Sati allowed his eyes to wander around the room once more. He still thought it was flashy and ostentatious, but in a sense, it seemed to suit his host. The man certainly wasn't as rigid as everyone else he'd met. He was willing to listen to other points of view, he embraced other ideals – hell, he had even made his servants and staff learn Sanskrit knowing that trade with India was on the rise and he wanted to be prepared for the future. After a while, he returned the pipe to its holder, and when the vizier got to his feet to end the evening, Sati followed suit, offering the other a small bow of thanks before trying to determine the way to his assigned room.

"Hoca, wait." When the priest stopped, the man smiled. "The courtyard is large, and I'd feel better if you had an escort to your chambers. I'll ask Ipekçi to attend to your needs. She's incredibly skilled – one of her baths would relax you completely."

Sati felt his cheeks heat, the blush deepening when he saw the dark-eyed slave girl from before gazing flirtatiously at him again. "That's...really not necessary," he said hurriedly, trying to mask his discomfiture.

"Oh, how inconsiderate of me! You're more used to the company of men!"

"It's not that, really. And I'll be fine."

"Nonsense. I won't have a guest enjoy anything but my complete hospitality." Glancing around the room, the vizier's eyes landed on the raven-haired pleasure slave. "You're already familiar with Hamdi. He shall be your personal attendant for the evening. Anything you require, he will provide it for you." The nobleman clasped his hands together, signifying that the decision was made and discussion was over. He failed to see the incredibly pleased smile that settled on his servant's face with that proclamation. "Besides," he continued as he draped an arm over the priest's shoulders, leading him from the banquet hall and into the slightly cooler night air. "It's not like I have to assign a guard to you. You are a holy man, after all, and I have no worries about leaving you with my Gödze." A boisterous laugh escaped the vizier, and he roughly nudged the monk as he winked. "I'll see you in the morning, my friend."

Now that he was alone with the slave, Sati finally had a chance to really look at the dark-haired male, and after doing so, he felt only more uncomfortable. The man's skin was pale and creamy, and his body was tight and well-cut. The short-cropped dark leather yelek accented the toned abdomen and arms, while the leather leggings left incredibly little to the imagination in that respect – a thought that somewhat disturbed the blond. As his gaze flicked upward, he again found himself staring into mismatched eyes, and he scowled and took a step backward when the other male moved more into his personal space.

"It's alright. I like it that you look," Hamdi purred, and after deliberately brushing by the blond, his ass just grazing over the priest's hip, he led the other toward the hamam. Once they were inside the bathhouse, the servant smiled as he retrieved a bath towel. "Please undress." When the monk refused, he arched a brow. "Are you that afraid of a bath?" he asked with a smirk. "And here I was under the impression that your people extolled the virtues of cleanliness."

Sati scowled deeply, and after snatching the towel, he removed his clothing, draping it over a low table as he wrapped the large towel around his body, covering himself from chest to thigh to hide the bruises. "I can do it my-" His words died on his lips when he opened the door to the first room, and rather than finding a soaking tub, he was hit with a blast of hot, dry air. "This isn't a bath!" he remarked. "It's a sauna!"

Hamdi chuckled. "Trust me. I promise you complete relaxation." As he spoke, he slipped out of his own clothing, draping a towel low around his waist so that it hung to mid-calf. "Here...I wouldn't want you to slip." He handed the blond a pair of wooden clogs, sliding a second pair on his own feet. "Now come." He pulled the recalcitrant priest into the first room and settled him down on a low stone bench. "I'm going to go get the things ready in the next room that you'll need for your bath. This is called the warm room. Just relax here in the heat, and when you're ready, just come through this door to the hot room, ok?"

As the heavy door swung shut, Sati let out an impatient sigh before leaning back a little. After a few moments of petulance, his expression softened some. Though he'd never admit it to the slave-servant, sitting in the dry heat was incredibly soothing. He didn't know how long he remained there, but eventually, he got to his feet and made his way into the next room. He could see why it was called the hot room. It was much warmer than the previous one, and extremely humid – steam floated about the large, domed space, giving it a somewhat surreal feeling. In the centre was a large marble slab, beside which stood Hamdi. When the dark-haired male beckoned him over, he rolled his eyes, but complied.

"This is where you'll be washed. Lie down on this table and I'll cleanse you and give you a scrub massage – the baths are famous for those." In a gesture of modesty, he averted his eyes so that Sati could remove his towel and lie down, though the slave did have his fingers splayed slightly and was coyly peering through them.

Again, the blond felt a sense of discomfiture, though he reluctantly removed his towel and laid face-down on the slab. Violet eyes watched Hamdi suspiciously as the other male picked up a bar of chamomile soap and a piece of cotton webbing. Curiously, he watched as the raven-haired male swirled the cloth over the soap to foam up the webbing, and when he smelled the softly scented perfume, he relaxed a little as the expert hands began to lather him up. He was grateful that the raven hadn't commented on the state of his body – well, save for the occasional lewd remark as he moved over a taut muscle. A few moments later, Hamdi's movements stopped, but only so he could retrieve his kese, the coarse fibres of the cloth delivering an abrasive, yet oddly enjoyable, massage. Sati found that despite his injuries, the touches felt good. In fact, they were easing some of the lingering ache from his body. Finally (and all too soon for the monk's liking), a basin of cool water was splashed upon him to rinse him off, and he tensed again when he heard the other male tell him to turn over.

Hamdi's expression was positively predatory as the priest moved to lay on his back, and he met the violet eyes. "Enjoying yourself so far?" he asked. "I assure you that I am." As if to emphasize his point, the slave leaned over the blond under the guise of reaching for the soap again, allowing his erection to graze against the other's side. Without another word, he again picked up the foamy webbing and began to wash down the monk.

Sati closed his eyes, snorting slightly in response to the question. It was the only thing he _could_ do. Much to his own consternation, he'd noticed the way the humidity of the room had dampened the fine wisps of hair at the slave's temple and nape, and the way the soft, longish tendrils clung to sweat dampened skin. He almost thought that the slave was doing it on purpose. And, as tantalizing images of the slave doing very unholy things to him flitted across his mind, Sati was suddenly _very_ aware of the heat from the other's body against his own. The softest of moans reached his ears, and a moment later a chill of horror ran through him when he realized that he wasn't sure if it had come from him or from the other man. Not that he had much time to really ponder that, for mere moments later, a soft mouth was being pressed against his, a bold tongue skating daringly along the seam of his lips. Violet eyes flew open in shock, and a moment later, despite his earlier prurient thoughts, he'd violently shoved the dark-haired man away.

Hamdi momentarily lost his footing on the wet stone and staggered a little, though his lithe body recovered quickly from the jolt. Moving slowly back to the priest's side, he paused. Slowly, the sensual smile crept back into place, and taking another half-step toward the monk, he purred, "What, you don't like your bath?"

Sati, who was now sitting up with his towel draped across his still-soapy lap, scowled deeply. "No, I don't like the bath, and I especially don't like you," he hissed as he narrowed his eyes and glared unwaveringly at the other.

"Oh, I don't know about that," the slave drawled in that same sultry voice. "A few moments ago, you sounded like you were quite taken with what I was doing."

_'Damn,'_ the blond thought to himself as he felt his cheeks heat with the knowledge that it _had_ been him. "You're obviously mistaken," he remarked churlishly.

"Oh?" Hamdi's smile widened, and after licking his lips, he closed the distance between them. "Perhaps. After all, speech can be _so_ unreliable. I suppose that's why they say that actions speak louder than words." Leaning in close and half expecting to be struck again for his boldness, he whispered in the priest's ear, "And I beg to disagree with you, hoca." A hand trailed up Sati's thigh, sliding under the towel and lightly stroking over the rapidly hardening flesh of the monk's cock. "Or are you always this aroused by things and people you don't care much for?" When he received no resistance for his actions, the raven-haired male chuckled sensually as he used his other hand to ease the priest back down against the stone before he stripped away the towel completely so he could stroke the blond in earnest. After a couple of long, quick pumps, he slowed his motions down, continuing to tease the rigid shaft as he finished washing off the rest of Sati's body. After rinsing him with the tepid water, Hamdi's hand resumed its earlier ministrations, a slight twist of the wrist on each upstroke drawing long, wanton moans from the monk.

Sati was mortified at the sounds coming from him. Still glowering, he attempted to feebly push the other away from him, disgusted with himself for liking it so much. For _wanting_ it. "I told you, leave me alo – ohh!" His head fell back against the stone tablet as a warm, wet heat surrounded his aching cock, and looking down, he saw Hamdi's head in his lap, his shaft down the slave's throat. The most exquisite suction was being applied to the head, and this time, instead of shoving the dark-haired man away, the priest's fingers tangled in the soft, tousled tresses, grasping tighter as he drew nearer to his impending climax.

The servant purred low in his throat, and he grinned around his mouthful when he felt the full-body shiver his actions elicited. He eased back to swirl his tongue over the tip, his own body tingling as he tasted the sharp saltiness of precome. A taste was far from enough; he wanted more. Wrapping his hand around the base, he began to pump furiously as he applied more suction to the head, his other hand slipping between the priest's thighs to press firmly against the silken skin just behind his sac. He was rewarded with a low keen, and moments later, the monk arched up, sending wave after wave of hot seed pulsing down the slave's throat. Hamdi mewled in ecstasy as he swallowed his treat, wordlessly releasing Sati before silently cleansing him of all traces of his release, first with his tongue, and then with the cloth.

The priest panted softly as he lay in a boneless heap on the table. As he once again became aware of his surroundings, he was somewhat surprised to find the slave washing him off, looking as though nothing so intimate had just happened. And a few moments later, he was surprised to find himself being helped into a sitting position.

"Can you walk, hoca?"

"I'm not an invalid, and you weren't that good to render me immobile!" the monk snapped, turning away from the concerned, mismatched eyes.

Hamdi's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he chuckled. "I'll have to try harder next time, then. But let me help you to the cool room. Please, relax for a little while to let your body return to normal temperature. I'll bring you a robe you can wear across the compound, and something cool and refreshing for you to drink." Taking the priest by the arm, he led him into the last room and sat him down on a stone divan before excusing himself. When he returned, he was again dressed in the dark leather, a lightweight muslin gown draped over one arm, and a glass containing crushed ice, mint leaves, water and sugar in the other. After handing Sati the drink, he picked up a small, crystal phial. Removing the stopper, he poured several drops of oil into his palm, and then began to rub down the fair-haired man with the rosewater essence, this massage as caressingly soothing as the other had been sensually invigorating.

Sati felt incredibly at ease and stress-free, and he was amazed that his body didn't have that chronic, leaden ache. The light fragrance was soothing, and soon, he found himself yawning. After finishing his beverage, he set the glass aside and reached for the robe. "I'm ready for bed now," he remarked somewhat curtly as he got to his feet.

"I'm sure you are," the servant replied with a smirk, his gaze again turning predatory. "Come, I'll show you to your chambers."

On their way out, he draped the priest's robes over his arm, and silently, the two made their way across the compound. As they entered the living quarters, Sati was surprised to see the actual number of slaves and servants employed by the vizier.

"There are one hundred and fifty of us," Hamdi said in response to the unasked question. The dark-haired male moved confidently through the corridors, passing by several guards, and finally stopping at a set of doors. Inside was a large, futon-like mattress covered with sumptuous linens, an ornately carved chest, a large, wooden wardrobe, and an elegant divan that allowed the user to gaze out at the courtyard. Once inside, Hamdi moved to the mattress and drew back the covers.

Sati gave the servant a nod of thanks, and stifling another small yawn, he stripped off the long robe and settled himself down on the bed. His eyes had only been closed for a moment when he felt a weight settle next to him, and a now-familiar hand made its way up his leg to his groin, once again teasing his rapidly burgeoning arousal. It wasn't long before he was completely hard again, especially when he imagined that talented mouth on his cock. Again, his mind's thoughts turned libidinous, and for several moments, he lost himself to his own fantasies as the other worked him ever closer to orgasm. He heard a soft hiss, and when he looked up, he was completely unprepared for what he saw. The pleasure slave was completely naked, and was in the process of removing a small string of anal beads from his ass. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" the monk demanded, only to be silenced by a harsh, hungry kiss.

"Quiet," Hamdi murmured against the blond's lips as he shifted his position to straddle Sati's hips. "The master's room is not far from here, and guards are always on patrol in the corridors. Should you and I be caught in such a compromising position, well...I'd be executed on the spot, and you –" He paused, and with a rakish smile, he arched his hips back, letting the tip of the other's cock press against his ass. With a soft groan, he let the long, thick length penetrate him, and when he was fully settled against the priest's body, he chuckled. "They'd castrate you. Personally, I think you'd be worse off than me."

Sati barely heard the other's comment. His eyes were wide as he felt the exquisitely tight heat surround him, and though he knew he should push the other off of him and had grabbed the dark-haired man's hips to do just that, he couldn't. Instead, he just gazed up into those odd eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're a whore," he remarked darkly. "Nothing but a concubine trying to seduce me."

"Actually, hoca, I'm not. The vizier has yet to claim me. It was to be tonight, but then my master met you. I'm so glad he did. I didn't want my memory of my first time to be with him. He's bedded so many. I wanted it to mean something."

The monk laughed. "How can this possibly mean something to you? We've only just met, and though you're pretty enough, I don’t exactly like you."

Hamdi just laughed. "I think it's because I'm your first, too, yes?" When the only reply he received was a sharp snort followed by a deep flush, he knew he had guessed correctly. "Well then, let us enjoy the moment together." Arching his hips up, he slid nearly all the way off the blond's cock, only to press back down, clenching his muscles around his lover's shaft. 

He maintained that rhythm for several minutes, his movements slow and lithe. The only sounds in the room were their muted gasps and moans, and the soft slide of skin against skin. As their passion mounted, so too did their desire for more. Sati grasped tightly to the slave's waist, arching his hips up to go deeper while Hamdi ground down against the priest's groin, the slight change in angle and pressure causing his head to swim dizzyingly with pleasure. Finally, the monk had had enough, and losing himself to his need, he loosed a wanton growl and flipped them, drawing up one of the dark-haired male's legs over his shoulder and thrusting hard and fast into the tight heat beneath him.

Hamdi nearly cried out as the change struck his sweet spot dead on, and clenching his hands into tight fists, he felt his entire body tense before his orgasm tore through him, hot ribbons of creamy seed spilling between them. Almost desperately, he grasped the priest's cheeks and drew him down for a hot, hungry kiss, his cries and mewls lost to their embrace.

Sati grunted when he felt the other's body grow even tighter, and after only a few more thrusts, he, too, hit his peak, pulse after pulse of his release filling his lover's willing body. Finally, spent and exhausted, he broke away from the kiss and fell onto the bed next to the other, for the first time all night giving him a genuine smile. He refused to say 'thank you', though. He felt it would only cheapen the mood and make him regret what he'd done.

Hamdi indulged in a few more moments of being snuggled up next to the blond, and then he sighed. Getting to his feet, he went to the water basin that sat on the wooden chest and dampened a cloth. Gently, he wiped down the monk, and then himself. After carefully reinserting the beads, he dressed and grinned impishly at the other. "Sweet dreams, my hoca." Winking playfully, he gathered up the soiled cloths and garments and carried them off to be laundered.

Sati sighed softly as he fell back against the mattress before drawing up the covers as he turned onto his side and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, it was morning.

Sitting up, he saw his clothing folded neatly on the chest, freshly laundered and dried. On top of the pile was a beaded necklace with a small pendant that contained the Sanskrit character for 'faith'. The priest snorted as he stared at it, tossing it aside as he pulled his caftan back on. _'Like I have the time for this sort of crap,'_ he thought to himself as he gathered up his satchel and turned to leave. A moment later, Sati's expression turned thoughtful and he went back to pick up the necklace. Slipping it around his neck and then tucking it carefully under his robe, he smirked. He'd have to pass through these parts again on his way back home. He had a feeling that Hamdi would be waiting for him.

In fact, he was certain of it.

After all, he carried a bit of faith with him.


End file.
